


The Enemy

by pyknicGinger



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Sadstuck, what made me think this was a good idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyknicGinger/pseuds/pyknicGinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a pull in your head, like someone's plucked the strings of the spectral guitar you live by—the timelines. Something is going to happen soon, you can feel it. You're doomed, after all—nothing more than a dead Dave, waiting, waiting, waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> The result of [this](http://allsortsofdone.tumblr.com/post/58305813722/lets-talk-about-princes) Dirk theory, found via the Homestuck Theories tag. Good stuff, that. 
> 
> I'm also working on a massive multi-chapter Homestuck fic, which you can keep an eye on via my Homestuck blog, username [egbertiian](http://egbertiian.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Yeah, anyway. Hope you like this! Thanks for reading!

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you’re not quite sure what to think. No matter how hard you try to suppress it, the only thing you _are_ certain of at the moment is the passage of time. Somehow, though, even that seems to have sputtered and slowed—something is wrong. _Everything_ is wrong.

And it all happened far too quickly.

What seems like only seconds ago, you had been standing atop your old apartment building, arguing with the black-haired beast who had once been one of your closest friends. She still _is_ , you have to remind yourself—but details like that are hard to remember through the dark, grimbark fog hanging heavy over everything around her. John had appeared, then, and distracted you both from what you were doing.

That was when things first started to go fuzzy, blurred by a rainbow of pixelated snow from beyond the outer reaches of the Furthest Ring. Even the ticks of your everlasting internal clocks faltered.

You remember your iShades blinking—someone had pestered you—but, just as you moved to open the window, a green light flashed and inhuman shrieking had filled the air. Momentarily blinded even behind your lenses, you stumbled, bumping into a terrified Mayor. The message was left unanswered. When your eyes finally adjusted, you saw that Jade had collapsed, half-kneeling on the concrete and clutching her head, snarling and growling and sparking nuclear lightning and—

Now, you see the movement from the corner of your eye too late to react—but then John is _already there_ , parrying Bec Noir’s sword with his war hammer. The Mayor scurries behind the air vent on your roof, through the door, and out of sight—likely to your room below. He’s safe there, you think, and are suddenly glad that there is one less person to worry about. As awesome as the Mayor is, he’s shit in a fight.

Before you realize what you’re doing, your feet take you to Jade’s side. She’s tearing at her hair, now, and yelling toward something you can’t see—something in her head. You’re vaguely reminded of Rose’s grimdark explanations of what it felt like to be held captive in the fabled blackdeath trance’s tar-sticky claws—whispers and screams hissing behind her eyes, playing out orders and taunts like a broken record or a bad song on loop. You wonder if the voices Jade hears are getting louder, because she’s stopped yanking at her tangled nest and is pressing down on her soft, black ears.

There’s nothing you can do. You’re a _Time_ player, not Mind—and even then you’re not sure that would help.

“ _Dave_!” the panicked shout breaks you from the thoughts you don’t have _time_ for, damn it, and you spin back around just in _time_ to see John’s body glow blue. He’s going to jump, you realize—and then you’ll be with the two demon dogs, left alone  to fight in a battle you can’t win. The snow in your brain is getting thicker, and you can’t properly tell if you’re the Alpha Dave anymore.

It’s frightening.

You wonder if your best friend can see the panic behind your shades, or if he knows about the block—because something in his own gaze changes. Before you can yell back at him, he’s grabbing on to the winged beast with the iron grip of a hammer-wielder and _ZAP!_ They’re both gone. Jade yowls again, louder this time, and you whip your head back— _do something, damn it!_ —in time to see the Transportalizer you don’t remember having start to spark and fizz.

A girl you don’t recognize flashes into existence just as the last of John’s light disappears, and your snarky subconscious spares a moment to wonder just how much _more_ chaos the situation can handle. She’s dressed in red, and stares long and hard at Jade for a while, completely ignoring you. Your gone-grimbark Witch of Space growls back, to which the other girl drawls nonchalantly, “A pet should know it’s place. And you’re doing a terrible job in _yours_ , I see. First the Rogue, now the Knight—I’ve got no need for failures in my business. Keep this up and you’ll find yourself put down.”

Jade’s hair raises like the hackles of a predator ready to pounce, “I liked you a lot better when you were silent and stupid.”

“Now that’s not very nice—I liked _you_ better when you weren’t fighting so hard against Her Condescension’s control. It’s making the company look bad, you know.” She points a fork-trident-scepter thing at Jade, but you’re already moving. That’s all you need to hear—your friend’s pushing back.

You don’t make it.

A blast of blue hits her, and you’re still hurtling toward the red-clad chick when Jade stands mid-blast. You’ve left your guard down on that side, focused solely on what’s-her-face, and suddenly you want to facepalmx2 for forgetting that your friend can fucking _teleport_ , good or bad.

You feel the blow before she even finishes materializing, and grit your teeth.

_Was that your shout?_

_No, Striders don’t shout. It’s uncool as fuck._

_And clearly neither of these ladies are the least bit panicked on your behalf._

Swinging around, you try to knock Jade with the hilt of your shitty Welsh sword, but she’s faster than you and the momentum brings you crashing into the other girl. The snow in your head is getting thicker, and when you try to roll off her in two seperate directions— _splinter the timeline splinter the timeline splinter the timeline_ —you find that you can only manage to go one way.

There will be no dead Daves to save you, it seems.

You dive out of the way as the fork-trident-scepter pierces the concrete where you had been sprawled less than a second before, springing to your feet and assuming the coolest of cool battle stances. Jade has stopped attacking, and you see out of the corner of your eye that she’s getting ready to spring up at something in the sky behind you. _John’s back_ , you think, _thank fucking God_. But you’re too busy clashing your sword against the other girl’s metal pole to double check.

“Well, now I see why you blocked me.”

Perhaps you should, though, because that is _definitely_ not your best bro’s voice.

The girl you’re fighting with narrows her eyes, and you take advantage of her momentary distraction to push _hard_ and throw off her balance. She steps back and glares at you, attention refocused as Jade’s growling intensifies in the background. “You should have welcomed the Imperial’s influence when you had the chance, Strider—You’re a liability, now. And no business can function properly with those lying around, unattended to.” She’s looking right at you, but you’re only half-sure of what she’s talking about.

“That was a quick turnover,” You snark back. “Less than five minutes ago, I was some unrealized hero hand-picked to take out the guy punching holes in space.”

She lunges at you again, rolling her black eyes as she replies, “Not you, you ins—”

You don’t hear the rest of it, though, because suddenly something slams into you from behind and knocks you forward—right into the red girl’s outstretched fork-trident.

You’ve experienced the pain of death a thousand times before, though, so you don’t even blink.

Instead, you grab the weapon’s hilt, dropping your sword in the process, and wrench the spikes from your stomach, swinging the whole thing around with the chick still attached. She goes flying, not expecting you to move so quickly, and hits the roof’s air conditioner hard enough to dent the metal.

The other thing is still on your back, though, so you let the handle fall and reach over your shoulders instead, pulling whatever-it-is over your head and slamming it on the ground. Jade’s neon eyes glare back at you as you keep her pinned, and she thrashes, thrashes, _thrashes_ until a stray limb hits the bleeding holes in your stomach. “ _F-u-ck_.”

She throws you off just as something else—something _pink_?—dives from the sky and takes your place atop her.

You don’t see his face, but you would recognize that particularly-shitty sword anywhere.

He’s not pointing it at Jade, though. Instead, he has both knees holding her arms down and presses his free hand over her chest. For a moment, you want to snort—he’s choosing _now_ to cop a feel?—but the blurring in your brain is getting thicker and heavier as your time leaks out red, red, _red_ all over your red, red, _red_ godtier pyjamas.

It isn’t a particularly heroic death, so you know you’ll be fine after a solid twenty minutes trapped in oblivion. At most, you’re just really annoyed with the whole situation.

But your body doesn’t seem to be cooperating anymore, so you can’t to anything but watch as shitty-sword-guy’s hand starts glowing. Then, suddenly, he’s pulling something dark and slimy and _what the hell is that_ out from over her heart. With that, everything else starts moving—like black sludge, the tar on her doggy fur slowly begins shifting, dripping away from the crown of her hairline and sliding toward his hand. You can see white, now, as the shadow of grimbarkiness is yanked away.

When your eyes finally slip closed and you collapse to the ground, you can’t help but feel relieved.

* * *

Waking up is, as always, a really shitty experience. Those Disney princesses had it easy, you think, as the feeling crawls back into your body. The whole thing starts in your stomach and moves outward. It—whatever _it_ is—always begins with the wound that kills you, fixing that up first and giving you the pleasure of feeling the process first-hand.

Lovely stuff, that.

When the tingle finally hits your head, however, your ears start working again, and you realize that there are voices mumbling off to the side. It’s impossible to make out what they’re saying, though, so you eventually give up, choosing instead to flex your fingers and mumble stupidly. “What the fuck?” You’re pretty sure that sloppy slur is yours, and you open your eyes the tiniest bit. Thankfully, your shades are still intact, so the already-dim glow of your molten planet isn’t too bright.

A familiar blue blob appears over your head, and you suppress a wince at how loud his excited exclamation—" _Dave_!”—is.

Instead, you push yourself up into a sitting position, and ignore how dizzy you are as you shove your—literally—hovering best bro away. “Yeah, yeah—that’s my name, Egbert. Very observant. Gold sticker for you. Bet your dad’ll be real proud.” He rolls his eyes at you, but you realize immediately that those words probably weren’t the best to pick. It’s been three years, but when you managed to get from your sister the vague details of John’s finding his father slain at the hands of—

You suddenly bolt up, and blue sleeves are steadying your shoulder even before you realize you need them. “Woah, woah—what’s the—”

“Where is he?”John scrunches his eyebrows, and you’re not sure if you want to hit him or hug him now that it catches up to you that he’s _safe_. “You’re here, and he’s not.”

“Oh! Jack? Ditched him in the Outer Ring. Played the whole teleport-tag thing with him, but these freaky new powers seem to mess with stuff they probably shouldn’t. I led him there and then _zap_! I lost, like, half an hour. Skipped it, I think. I don’t know—you’d get it better than me. Time’s your game.” It’s then that you realize the pixelated snow blocking out the timelines from your view has cleared, and you wonder if your windy friend has anything to do with that. What you see isn’t good, though, and you can’t help but sigh. “Dave?”

You wave him off. Something happened earlier—you aren’t sure what—but you know enough now to realize that you’re trapped in a splintered timeline. Maybe you’ve been in one this whole while.

 _Fuck you, Alpha Dave_ , you think.

Then, however, your memories catch up with you, and you replay the fight at lightening-speed. Clearly, you haven’t been attacked yet, and John seems alright. The pink guy must have—oh, _shit_.

One glance at the air unit shows that the other girl’s body is gone, and the spot where Jade had been held down is empty. There’s a nice-looking trail of black sludge dragged away from it, though, and you follow it with your eyes as John tries to get your attention back. He won’t get it, because you’re too busy screaming internally at the fact that your Bro’s kid-self just saw you _accidently die_.

What a brilliant first impression.

Your urge to facepalmx2 rises to combo-level embarrassment, and you can practically feel your coolkind echeladder plummeting.  

Still, you don’t let it show on your face as your gaze follows the slimy grimbark line and lands on the same fuschia-clad boy from earlier, now sitting cross-legged on the roof, an unconscious girl on either side. One is, quite obviously, Jade—now de-darked—and the other you recognize as the chick who killed you. Except she’s not _red_ anymore.

Pointy anime shades stare back at you over a neutral expression and crossed arms.

John’s hands on your shoulders are pulling you, then, and you realize he’s still speaking. “—en I showed up he was pulling this weird crown thing off my Nanna and—” That gets your attention.

“Slow down there, Egbert. I don’t see your creepy Nannasprite anywhere around here, so I’m assuming she came and went after I checked out.”

“ _Jeez_ , Dave, were you even _listening_?” he crosses his arms and floats back some, thoroughly pouting around his stupid buck teeth.

“Yes. Clearly I was. What are you even saying, Egbert? The implication that I care about anything other than what you’re telling me right now is absolutely absurd. Listen to yourself. It’s ridiculous.”

He rolls his eyes at you again, and sticks his tongue out. You resist the urge to retaliate because _fuck your Bro’s sitting right there and not saying anything fuck he thinks you’re a loser fuck_.

“You’re such a dork.”

“Striders can’t be dorks, Egderp. Our blood’s practically immune to that shit.”

He huffs, throwing his hands up as he turns to the silent trio several feet away. “Whatever, Dave. But _anyway_ ,” he points to the formerly-red girl, “ _that’s_ my Nanna. The one from _this_ session. Apparently she’s our age, now, which is pretty cool. Except for the fact that she was evil, and, you know, stuff.”

“...Betty Crocker, man.”

You see him flail out of the corner of your eye, and then it’s _your_ turn to roll your eyes. Not that anyone can tell behind your sha— “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Dave. I _told_ you she was a menace, but _no_.” He draws out the accusation and waves his arms around some more for added effect. “ _You_ told me that _I_ was being paranoid. Just you wait—the way stuff is going, I bet I’m right about that freaky puppet you practically worship, too. Your brother’s thing.”

“No way, man—Lil’ Cal’s the shit. Don’t go talkin’ smack about him.”

Square glasses are right up in your face, then, and you blink defiantly back at your best friend as he continues to rant. “His dead, glassy eyes stare into your _soul_ , Dave. It’s not natural. I bet he’s going to wake up one day, Chucky-style, and _kill us all._ ”

“You watch too many shitty movies, bro,” you see movement in the side of your vision at that, but you’re not sure why. Or maybe you are, and just don’t want to think about it.

“Shut up, my taste in movies is great.” The declaration seems slightly weaker than usual, though—normally, your best friend would have shifted into full-on Hollywood-defense mode by now, but the topic ends abruptly. “Anyway, yeah. How much of my explanation did you actually hear?” He floats off again, and everyone else comes back into view.

Might as well get it over with.

Rip that shit off like a fucking Band-Aide.

Quick and dirty.

“Long story short, I fucked up royally and my Bro showed up. My sorry ass was saved again, boom—now we can all go home.” When no one says anything else, you grit your teeth and nod in the general direction of where he’s sitting. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Dirk.”

“What?”

“That’s my name.”

“Fuck, I know. I’ve lived with you my whole life.”

He pauses, then, and doesn’t say anything for a few moments. “I’m not your Bro—so call me Dirk.” It feels like someone’s kicked you in the gut and left their boot in your stomach, but you don’t let it show.

He really _does_ think you’re a loser, then. Doesn’t even want you anymore.

“Sure thing, then, Br—Dirk.”

John breaks in at that, bless his windy little heart, because he can tell that things are getting tense fairly quickly. “Like I was saying _earlier_ , apparently Dirk was able to break the Batterwitch’s influence over Jade, which was super helpful. I was hoping she wouldn’t have to die to get back from the deep end, like Rose did. And, ‘cause of the whole godtier thing, there wasn’t even a guarantee that would have worked. Anyway, the whole cause of it all was something about these freaky troll powers she has—Betty Crocker was a _troll_ , Dave. I’m just making it rain I-told-you-so points up in here, as you’d say—and, like, it turned part of Jade’s soul black or something. But since he’s the _Prince of_ freaking _Heart_ , he, uh. He fixed her. And my Nanna—”

“Jane.” Dirk doesn’t take his eyes off you when he corrects John. Or, at least, you don’t think he does. It’s hard to tell through his shades—you’ve _never_ been able to tell. And, despite the fact that you’re close enough with John that _he_ knows what you’re thinking behind _yours_ , you’re fairly sure he can’t, either. It’s a small comfort that at least _that_ hasn’t changed. Not that John ever met your Bro, but the idea remains the same.

“—Right, sorry. And Jane, too.” John’s beaming when he finishes, and, once again, you’re more than glad that he’s alright. Most of his past encounters with Jack have ended badly, and you’re pretty sure distracting the freaky demon-dog away from you counts as at least mildly heroic.

Stupid Heir and his stupid noble tendencies. He’s going to die before all of you, you’re sure.

Wow, you _really_ don’t want to think about that.

“So,” you start. “Price of Heart, then. And it looks like you’ve already managed to kick the slurryholder at least once, too.”

John snorts, and you can see Dirk’s eyebrows move over his sunglasses. “Slurryholder?” He asks. Score one for you, then.

“Troll thing.”

“It’s just a bucket, Dirk,” John breaks in, shoving your shoulder. “You spent too long on that meteor.” You don’t argue, because you can agree wholeheartedly without admitting to it.

“Yes, then. I did die, and achieved godtier level along with everyone else in my session.”

“Rose’s mom and Jade’s grandpa, then, too?” you ask.

“Roxy and... Jake, respectively. Yes.” Part of you wonders why he falters before saying the Harley kid’s name, but you’re not about to ask. You don’t care anymore ( _liar_ ). He doesn’t want to be your family. It’s his choice. He has another life to live—one that’s separate from yours.

Which, apparently, will be much shorter than you had originally thought.

There’s a pull in your head, like someone’s plucked the strings of the spectral guitar you live by—the timelines. Something is going to happen soon, you can feel it. This is a doomed timeline, after all, and you’re nothing more than a dead Dave, waiting, waiting, waiting.

John speaks up, though, so know your thoughts must have shown in your face. You’d think you would be used to the whole thing by now, but _no_ Dave ever wants to be _expendable_. Which you are, now—for the sake of the Alpha timeline _and_ the other doomed streams. Which is unfortunate.

“Dave?” John asks, floating around in front of you.

“Don’t worry about it, bro.”

He starts rambling, though. “Something isn’t right—I can feel it. And I know you can, too, Mr. Knight of Time. Stupid new powers. I need a manual or something. Not that I’d read it—that’s stupid. But, like—” you let your lips quirk up at him, just this once, because you figure you’re going to die anyway. And you don’t care what your stupid Bro thinks anymore.

You feel the tingle more than see it, as, suddenly the same flash of green from too-long ago brightens the area once again to the point of blinding. John may have skipped through time to avoid Bec Noir, but the clocks were going to catch up eventually. And Jack knew exactly where to find his prey.

The light makes it hard to see where he’ll strike, but you know he’ll go after John, so you leap, knocking him to the ground just as something hits were he had been moments ago.

Where you are, now.

There’s a sword in your chest when you look down, and you wonder briefly if this is what Davesprite feels like every time he sees himself in a mirror.

But when Jack pulls, you won’t let him have his weapon, and you grip the hilt to keep it lodged in your body. It hurts, hurts, _hurts_ , and you hear someone screaming—it sounds like John, but you can’t be sure.

He’s distracted, though, which gives Dirk enough time to leap up with his own blade and slice a hefty section from the demon-dog’s left wing. Jack roars and pulls back, ready to strike at your not-brother, but you _still_ won’t let him go. You’ve both got your hands on the weapon still inside you, so you shift to grip his wrists and pull him forward, knocking your head against his own in a very effective (if you do say so yourself) headbutt . Then you jerk back, still with your hands on him, and yank the sword out. Bending his arms backwards is the hard part, but, once you’ve got his carapace joints snapped, you bring the blade down over his head and _shove_.

It’s over before you can see properly, but the victory is short-lived because you _know_ this isn’t the main timeline. You didn’t _really_ kill Jack, you think bitterly. He’s still out there, tormenting your Alpha selves.

Then John’s by your side, catching you before you hit the ground. “Oh God, oh God, oh God. Dave. Dave. I hate you, Dave. I hate you. I would have been fine. You didn’t have to save me. I hate you. I would have been fine.” It takes you a moment to realize that he’s crying.

“You can’t hate me, Egderp,” you snort. But that hurts, so you decide not to do it again. “You can’t hate anyone. You don’t know how.”

“Fuck you, Dave. Fuck y—”

“Dave?” A new voice speaks up, and there’s a lot of shuffling outside your steadily-narrowing field of vision. “Dave!” White fur and groggily-blinking green eyes appear, then. Jade’s awake.

“Hey, Harley. Glad to see you’re back on with us.” It’s calm, casual. You’ve died before. This is nothing.

“—Fuck you, Dave. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

“You propositionin’ me, Egbert? I’m in no condition to do anything like that, you know,” and you smirk, hoping to get a laugh from your best bro. He smiles a watery grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. Good enough, you suppose.

You turn your head a bit, and there you can see Dirk standing stock-still, bloody blade still in hand, staring at the three of you. John’s Nanna—Jane, the former red-chick—is beside him, one hand on his forearm as she starts getting teary, too. She probably doesn’t know what’s happening, but you figure she thinks it’s her fault or something.

Jade starts talking, but you can’t really understand her anymore, so you just move your head back to where it was. Having two of your closest friends in view at the same time is nice. It’s never been that way before. Or maybe it has.

You can’t quite remember.

* * *

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and, suddenly, you HATE YOURSELF.

Your brother is dying for real this time, and you can’t do anything. You didn’t do anything.

Because you are stupid and sentimental and you didn’t realize the danger until it was too late. Jane shuffles to your side, eyes wide and unfocused behind her glasses as you both watch the three other teenagers huddle together. It takes a moment for things to click, but, when they do, she sags into your side.

“Oh, God. Dirk—Dirk, did I do that? Did I kill someone? I can’t... things are fuzzy? I can’t...” She starts choking, and grips your arm harder. “No, wait—I’m the Maid of Life. I can fix this. I—”

When she moves, you press your arm closer to your side to hold her back. “Heroic death. Can’t stop this one.” Your voice is gruff, and you wonder if you’re going to start crying, too.

It’s been a long time since you’ve cried.

And, when you think about the last thing you said to your brother—in the _first_ and _last_ conversation you’ll ever have with him—you think you actually might. You’d told him you weren’t his Bro. Because you’re _not_! He grew up with some cross-dimensional copy of yourself, who, you can only assume, is ten-times cooler than you are or ever will be.

But that doesn’t change the fact that _he_ is _your_ brother. The only one you’ve ever gotten to meet, of any version. You don’t care which. Because Dave Strider is, was, and always will be a man that you admire. In name, in legend.

This Dave was meant to be yours, even if you could never be his.

Fucking timelines.

And as he lays dying, you want to bawl like a child looking for comfort from a parent—from a brother—and tell him how awesome he is. He exceeded your expectations. He’s the best. He will _always_ be the best. You’ve seen him fight, and you know he’s strong. You’ve seen him interact with his friends, and you know he’s funny and ironic and witty and amazing. You’ve seen him plan, if only for a moment, and you know he’s smart.

You’ve learned over the past sixteen years that it _is_ possible to miss a dead man you've never met.

The sobbing in front of you gets louder as two bodies press impossibly closer to one that won’t ever move again.

You are the Prince of Heart, but, for the moment, you are broken.

 


End file.
